The first 10K I ever ran was in Stillwater, Minnesota, with my childhood friend, Kathryn. The small entry fee was the most that either of us had ever invested in running. We were of the cotton and polyester blend, not the Quick Dry league. But as we took our place in the throng of poised runners, a rush of adrenaline set in and I was swept up in the pulse of the masses.

Kathryn caught the gleam of instinct in my eye and charged, “Don’t get heard mentality on me!”

For the most part, imagining myself as a wildebeest is enough to garner some self-control. There’s really no need to charge, headlong, through a crowd. But when I descended to the main-floor lobby of the Overture Center, last Friday evening, I recognized the vague semblance of a line forming to meet the guest of honor. It became a race, to join rank before the next person did.

I abandoned my friends and began lumbering through the crowd. From my periphery, I sensed someone advancing towards my route. But Kathryn was not there to reign me back in. I was the wildebeest that cut-off David Sedaris.